


A Soft Spot for Sloshed Strangers

by siriuspiggyback



Category: The New Legends of Monkey (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Breakfast, F/M, Misunderstandings, monkey is drunk and confused, tripitaka is too kind for her own good
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-10
Updated: 2018-05-10
Packaged: 2019-05-05 00:55:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14605656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriuspiggyback/pseuds/siriuspiggyback
Summary: “I’m The Monkey King!” he announced. He grinned at her, charming and boyish. Tripitaka was briefly distracted by the way it made his eyes crinkle, so it took a moment for her to process what he had said.“The Monkey King,” she repeated flatly. Never mind ‘probably’; he was definitely drunk.-------------------------------------------------------------------------a "you drunkenly broke into my apartment" au





	A Soft Spot for Sloshed Strangers

Tripitaka was pulled from sleep grudgingly. She had crashed at 1am after a long shift at Monica’s, and was hoping to sleep until at least midday. She groaned, wondering why the hell was awake at - she checked the clock - 3am. She rolled over, fully intending to go back to sleep, but then a noise echoed through her tiny apartment, the same noise that had roused her so early. In a second, she had rolled out of bed, heart pounding, because _why the hell_ could she hear footsteps in her apartment? Scouring her bedroom for a weapon, she settled on the vase on her windowsill. A small part of her took a moment to pray that she wouldn’t need to use it (not because she had any particular aversion to violence, but because it was probably the prettiest thing she owned). She tried to remember where she had left her phone, before remembering that she had left it in her jacket. Hanging on the front door.

 

She crept out of the bedroom, vase held aloft. She caught sight of a shadow first, a long stretch of dark emanating from the kitchen. Tripitaka’s breath caught in her throat and she turned, trying not to imagine who could be lurking around the corner. Hoping to use the element of surprise, she jumped out with a scream, brandishing her vase like bat. What she wasn’t expecting was to be screamed at in return.

 

“Who are you?” cried the strange guy in her kitchen.

 

“Who am I? It’s my apartment! Who are _you_?” yelled back Tripitaka, taking a moment to take stock of the situation. The man in front of her didn’t exactly fit the stereotype of a burglar. For one, he was exceedingly handsome, long dark hair and smoky eyes, and secondly, he was wearing some kind of ...battle armor?

 

“Your apartment?” he questioned, looking bemused. He swayed a little. Was he drunk?

 

“Yes, my apartment,” said Tripitaka.

 

He looked around, as if reevaluating the situation. “So… this isn’t Pigsy’s place?”

 

“Pigsy? No,” she said, slowly lowering the vase. He didn’t seem dangerous. Unfortunately, the movement seemed to draw attention to her makeshift weapon.

 

“Were you-” he wobbled backward a little, hand flying to his chest with dramatic flair. “Were you going to attack me with that thing?”

 

“I thought you were a robber, or a murderer!”

 

He seemed to consider this for a moment, before shrugging loosely. “Yeah, that’s a fair assumption. My bad.”

 

Tripitaka let out a long breath, tension dissipating. She carefully placed the vase on the kitchen counter. This guy was an idiot, and probably at least a little drunk, but he seemed harmless. “What’s your name?”

 

“I’m The Monkey King!” he announced. He grinned at her, charming and boyish. Tripitaka was briefly distracted by the way it made his eyes crinkle, so it took a moment for her to process what he had said.

 

“The Monkey King,” she repeated flatly. Never mind ‘probably’; he was definitely drunk.

 

“Yes! Didn’t you notice the, uh,” he gestured vaguely at his body, “the costume? The party had an ancient myth theme.”

 

“Right.” Tripitaka let a slow breath out through her nose. “I’m not calling you that.”

 

He pouted. “My friends call me Monkey.” She crossed her arms, giving him a hard look. “No, really,” he said, “My friends really do call me Monkey. Long story.”

 

Deciding not to question him further on the subject - really, his nickname was the least alarming thing in this situation - she instead asked, “How did you get in?”

 

He wheeled around, pointing his finger behind him. “The window. I went up the- y’know, the, um.”

 

“Fire escape?” supplied Tripitaka.

 

“Yes!” yelled Monkey, grinning again.

 

“Right. Could you call your friend? Pigsy?”

 

“You’re so smart!” he said, patting down his pockets. After a moment, his face fell. “Wait. Pigsy has my phone. And my keys. My costume has no pockets.”

 

“Of course,” she said. “Do you know his number?”

 

“Um… no. No, I do not.”

 

“Have you got _anywhere_ to stay?” Tripitaka asked, a little desperate.

 

“Nope,” he said cheerfully.

 

Tripitaka pinched the bridge of her nose. She was too tired for this. Every bit of common sense she had was telling her to make him leave. He was a total stranger, after all. But at the same time, she couldn’t make him sleep on the streets. Could she? No, no, she couldn’t. She cursed herself mentally; she was too nice for her own good, and it was going to get her in trouble someday, but hopefully not today.

 

“Fine. Fine, you can take the couch.”

 

“Wha- seriously?” he asked.

 

“Yes. But no funny business, okay?” Tripitaka said, voice firm.

 

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, saluting her sloppily.

 

She grabbed his hand out of some strange, misguided instinct, and led him over to the couch. Monkey plopped down obediently.

 

“I’ll go get you a blanket and some water, okay?” she said, rubbing her eyes tiredly.

 

“M’kay,” he said. “Wait!” He caught her sleeve as she turned to leave.”What’s your name?”

 

“Tripitaka.”

 

“Tripti… what now?” he blinked.

 

“Tripitaka,” she repeated.

 

“Tripitaka? Okay,” he appeared to be in deep thought. “I’ll call you Trip.”

 

“No, you’ll call me Tripitaka,” she stated coolly.

 

“Fine,” said Monkey, vaguely put out.

 

“Just stay put,” she commanded.

 

As Tripitaka poured a glass of water, she took a series of deep breaths. This was quite literally the most ridiculous situation she had ever been in (and she had been in some weird situations). She also grabbed some painkillers; he would probably need them in the morning.

 

When she returned to the living room, it was to a rather pitiful sight. Monkey had attempted to take off the costume armour, and seemingly gotten himself stuck. “Help please?” she heard him say, although it was muffled by the costume.

 

Placing the water down on the battered little coffee table, she joined him in hoisting the armour over his head. With him pushing and her pulling, it finally came loose with a thunk, and Tripitaka somehow managed to whack herself in the nose for her trouble. Monkey was pink and ruffled looking. He quickly started smoothing his hair back down, attempting to regain composure. “Thank you,” he said carefully.

 

“You’re welcome.” Tripitaka cleared her throat. His top had ridden up with the armour, revealing a toned, golden stomach. She prayed to the gods that she wasn’t going red. “Right, um. Blanket. One second,” she said, thankful for an excuse to hide her blush.

 

She didn’t own many blankets, but thankfully it was summer, so she had a spare folded up in her wardrobe. She only had one pillow, so she hoped that the couch cushions would be comfortable enough.

 

By time that she went back to the living room, Monkey was dead asleep, snoring faintly. She smiled wearily at the picture he made, pink lips parted, curled up like a cat. Quietly as she could, she snuck in and covered him with her blanket, soft from years of use. He stirred slightly, but soon settled back into his steady rhythm of snoring.

 

High on success, and the prospect of sleep, Tripitaka floated back to her room. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

  
  
  
  


The next time that she woke up, it wasn’t to strange noises, but instead to the pleasant smell of fresh coffee. Muddled with sleep, the events of last night had taken on a dizzying, dream like quality. However, the evidence proved otherwise; who else would be in her apartment making coffee? She moved to exit, but caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her eyes were puffy from sleep, and she was wearing sleep shorts and an old t shirt with one of Sandy’s favourite metal bands on it. She contemplated whether it would be weird to put something nicer on. Not because she wanted to impress Monkey! Just, she felt a little vulnerable dressed like this. She came to the conclusion that it was better to look a mess than to look she was trying too hard, and she gave up on her appearance. At least with her hair cropped short, she didn’t have to deal with her usual birdsnest upon waking up.

 

Pushing open the bedroom door, she found the couch empty, save for her blanket, folded haphazardly. She continued out to the kitchen, and stumbled directly into Monkey. He steadied her by her elbows as she bounced off of his firm chest.

 

“Sorry,” they said simultaneously.

 

Stepping back, Tripitaka saw that Monkey looked - well, not as bizarre as last night, but still rather strange. It looked like he had gotten into a fight with a pack of flower and lost. Noticing Tripitaka’s gaze, he quickly tried to explain, “I wanted to make some pancakes. Y’know, make up for last night.” He rubbed the back of his neck, abashed. It was undeniably cute.

 

Tripitaka cracked a grin, charmed. “And how’s that going?”

 

He held up the mixing bowl, showing her the cement like mixture. “It is not cooperating.”

 

“Did you add the milk?” she asked.

 

“Yes,” blustered Monkey.

 

Unconvinced, Tripitaka went and pulled the milk out of the fridge. Wordlessly, she gestured for the mixing bowl and went to work loosening the mixture. Monkey watched as she poured the batter into the pan with practised ease. “Are you a chef or something?” he asked.

 

Tripitaka snorted. “Nope, just a waitress. What about you?”

 

“Superhero,” he said.

 

“And by day?”

 

“Security guard at the museum,” he said.

 

“I’m sure that from the fossils perspective, you are a superhero,” Tripitaka said, flipping the pancake neatly.

 

“Ha ha,” Monkey drawled, tone saturated with sarcasm.

 

“Grab a plate out,” Tripitaka instructed, “Cupboard below the microwave.”

 

In short time, the pair had a stack of pancakes, and Monkey poured some freshly brewed coffee. Tripitaka’s pokey little apartment had no dining table, so the two of them shared the sofa. She turned the TV on, and settled on an old sci fi movie as they ate in companionable quiet.

 

Breakfast eaten, Monkey stood, saying “I should probably go. Pigsy should be leaving for work any moment, hopefully if I meet him there I can grab my keys off him.”

 

To Tripitaka’s surprise, she felt a stab of disappointment at him leaving. Careful to keep her voice neutral, she said, “Okay.”

 

“Thanks again, for, y’know,” he said, gathering his costume from the pile on the floor.

 

“Sure thing,” she said, opening the door for him in what was hopefully a casual manner.

 

“Bye, then,” said Monkey, stepping past her into the hallway.

 

“Bye, Monkey,” she replied softly, closing the door. Just before it closed completely, a foot suddenly wedged itself in the doorjamb.

 

“Wait!” cried Monkey, pushing the door back open. “Could I take you out sometime?”

 

Tripitaka stood blankly for a moment, before bursting out, “Yes! I would like that.”

 

Monkey smiled a sunshine smile, eyes crinkled. “Could I get your number? So when I get my phone back-”

 

“Of course,” she said, hastily digging through the junk draw of her kitchen for a pen and paper. The search was interrupted, however, when she heard Monkey call out incredulously, “ _Pigsy_?”

 

Distantly, she heard another man yell, “Monkey? What are you doing here?” Heavy footsteps indicated his approach.

 

“I- I thought you lived here!”

 

“I do live here,” said Pigsy, “I mean, not right here, I’m next door.”

 

“Oh my fu- you were right next door this whole time?” squawked Monkey.

 

“What do you mean, all this time?” said Pigsy.

 

Monkey turned to look at Tripitaka, before mumbling, “Long story, I’ll explain later. Do you have my stuff?”

 

“Oh, yep, hold on,” he said, rummaging through the bag that was hanging on his shoulders. “Here you go.” He handed over the keys and phone, as promised.

 

Monkey sighed, relieved. “Pigsy, you’re a lifesaver.”

 

“No worries,” Pigsy replied. “I’ve got to go or I’ll be late for work.” His eyes flicked over to Tripitaka and back meaningfully. “Talk later, alright?”

 

“See you, Pigsy,” said Monkey, already turning back to Tripitaka.

 

“Well,” she said, “You weren’t far off after all.”

 

Monkey grimaced. “Can I still get your number?”

 

Tripitaka rolled her eyes. “Give me your phone,” she demanded, and began entering her details. Sure, Monkey was a weird dude, but he certainly wasn’t boring. Maybe Tripitaka needed someone to shake up her life. She returned the phone, and leaned onto her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.

 

“See you later, Monkey King,” she singsonged, closing the door on his dazed expression.

 

Leaning back against the door, she smiled to herself, amazed at her own boldness. It’s incredible, she thought, how much could change in a night.


End file.
